Master of Cards
by shattered petal
Summary: Let's play a game of Poker.


**author's note**: Despite how much I hate Gin's character, I think he's fascinating, and I also believe people underestimate him as a person. What I mean is that the guy feels emotions, even if he doesn't show them. This is headcanon I suppose, but I wanted to write a oneshot on that. You don't have to agree on how I write Gin. If you do read, thoughts are appreciated. Thanks!

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**Title**: Master of Cards  
**Genre**: Angst  
**Rating**: K+  
**Couple**: Hints of GinRan

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_'You've got a **gift**_.'

Gin Ichimaru knew a long time ago that he was an evil man. Or, he wanted to _believe_ he was evil. If he was evil, then it was _simple_. If he were to have a simple mind, if were a _simple_ human being, then everything would be so much _easier_. Most days –– _every day_–– he wished. He wished he couldn't feel a damn thing. He wished he was immune to pain. He wished he wasn't human.

At night, Gin shivered beneath the sheets, and his eyes were _wide open_. At night, he thought. At night, he felt his heart, scolding whilst it beat against his ribcage. At night, he never slept. At night, faces clouded his mind, faces he had shredded, and faces he had come to love and hate.

Once, when he was a lot younger, when his skinny body could barely stand, someone said he had a gift. A powerful, wonderful gift. That someone was kind and smiled at him. It was a smile which didn't reflect his true soul. It didn't reflect his cruelty, his corruption and greed. It was a warm, _loving_ smile and his dark, gentle eyes were fond. He looked at the boy and loved him.

And Gin hoped to remove that smile. He hoped for death to come to this man. For years, he was patient – _just be a little more patient_. For years, he trained himself and worked beside a man he loathed. He trained himself to become immune, to become stoic, and he smiled too. Yet his smile wasn't angelic, it wasn't that of an angel. It was that of a snake; devilish, menacing, _secretive_.

When death would come to this man, he would be able to live again – find the woman who cradled his heart and _live_. It was a _simple_ plan, a _simple _life. Gin had come to _love_ simplicity, and yet his mind was complex – a puzzle, and it _tortured _him. After a while, the years became too long – he started to fool himself, he started to create _illusions_ for himself.

Attachment – that was something he didn't expect.

Gin had been foolish.  
He was the Prince of Stoicism. He was a Master at Poker. He could deal his cards, he could bluff, and his smile never wavered. His opponents were _useless_ against him – they couldn't read him. They were _stupid_. They were ignorant; they had absolutely no idea. They were _clueless_.  
They believed his smile, his bluff, was _genuine_.

The man was _simply_ an actor.

Aizen had been wrong – Gin didn't possess _a_ gift. He possessed _many_.

Living the illusion that he loathed a man who cared about him, who taught him, who fed him, who offered him shelter, who made him excel, who _fathered_ him – it became a sick _joke_. Living the illusion that he would eventually _kill_ a man who showered him with so much love and affection – living the illusion that Gin Ichimaru was a heartless, cold being was _too much_ for one man.

Only a true soldier lived by his duty. Only a true soldier would pick up the blade, and refuse to drop it, even in death. Only a true soldier focussed on his mission. Only a true soldier kept going, despite the emotions slowly _cutting_ through his flesh, and _squeezing_ his heart, making it _burst_, blood trickling down his chest. Only a true soldier knew what insanity was.

Gin Ichimaru _was_ a soldier. He was the best there ever had been.

At night, he thought about her and wondered if she hated him. The pain was indescribable. The woman he saved, kept close, had come to hold dear – he wondered if she _loathed_ his existence. He wondered if they would meet again, and she would spit at his feet. Ah, that would make things so much _simpler_ for Gin. That meant he wouldn't have to worry – not about her. He only had to focus on sending his blade through Aizen's chest, ripping the creature in two.

Murder his _Father_.  
The first individual in his life to offer hope, encouragement. The first individual to ever accept him, to teach him, and love him.

Oh, to be _immune_ to love.  
What a dream.

Sitting upright in bed, Gin raised his knees and placed his head in hands. He jarred his teeth and inhaled slowly, trying to calm the blood rushing through him, trying to _control_ his racing heart. He was frightened. Petrified. He had come so far, he had _done_ so much – that was simple. That was a simple fact. The fact he would keep going was also _simple_.

Watching her heart shatter before him.  
… seeing the look on his teacher's face – someone he had come to _look up_ to – when he realised Gin's true motives.

There was no point in weeping; he knew the costs the moment he _promised_.  
–– _Smile_.

A true soldier lost.  
Either way.

_Let's play a game of Poker_.


End file.
